Hatchet Day (reprised)

The weekend has gone, the kebabs eaten (I only had one in the end), the beer drunk, the golf played and life returns to normal. Here's a mystery......I swim twice weekly (around 60 lengths of the pool each time), I cycle twice weekly (about 15km each time) and I go to the gym periodically. So how can 2 games of golf in 2 days make every single muscle and joint ache? Last night I was hobbling around the house like an 80 year old. Anyway, I played some good stuff so it's worth it. I think my golfing Mojo has been re-discovered.

On Friday at work it became clear that something was brewing. The Company has not reacted to the current financial crisis by jumping on the job shedding bandwagon, but neither has any of its competitors. But, I've always sensed that it was just a matter of time. The new Global Big Cheese is an accountant renowned for cost cutting via job losses. The blades are being sharpened for announcements tomorrow. Meeting rooms have been commandeered in our building and across the company's other sites.

Tomorrow, if the rumours are right, will be Hatchet Tuesday. No-one rreally knows how it'll work this time, with rumours going from 2.5% of the UK workforce to a whopping (and unlikely) 25%. To put this into actual figures, 2.5% is around 325 jobs, whereas 25% is around 3,500.

The Company is still very profitable, seemingly like Tesco's, MacDonalds and the utility companies it looks like we may be recession 'resistant' as opposed to recession proof. This leads me to belive the upper figure would be ridiculous. There appears to be two trains of thought on how this might be done. The normal re-organisation and loss of role method, or the the performance based method. Several of the worlds largest companies remove their bottom 5-10% of performers every year. Call me old fashioned, but surely that is THE fairest way of cutting staff. Why keep the duffers and let the good ones go? If you need specific savings then by all means offer some of the good people redundancy on generous terms but I've never understood how I've watched good people leave The Company whilst the morons remained behind.

This year, all of our annual appraisals have been bought forward to this month. I will have done all mine by the end of this week. Being a cynic , of course, I would link the new completion dates for annual appraisals as part of the plan to remove the bottom 5% or so of The Company. I assume that as long as this meets the target cost reduction then this is the way they will go. They may also decide to cull a few of those at the top end of their pay bands..........ooops......that's would put me in the line of fire then.

I have concluded that there is fuck all point in worrying though. If I am to get the chop, then I'm just going where better people than me have gone before. I have a plan in progress and hopefully this will help. If, yet again, the bullet with my name on it hasn't been manufactured then the plan will always be useful should this happen again. And lets face it, this will be a regular feature of UK life won't it? Employers can shed workers so much more easily here, than in any other EU country. It's our flexible work force culture isn't it? Or should I call it exploitable work force? We really did sell ourselves down the river when we let Thatcherism destroy basic working rights. But that's another subject.

For now, its squeaky bum time.

Can I hear someone shouting 'Timber' in the distance?

Later, GJ.

Result

Hellsbells is away for the weekend at The Grand Master and Queen Bee's place. So what are my plans I hear you (not) ask? Well, for any bloke who lives in a house full of women weekends like this are like little mini-breaks.

Bloke-time mini-breaks. Hmm......the seeds of a business idea for the Plan?

To be fair to Hellsbells, she rarely goes away and leaves lengthy lists of stuff to be done by the time she gets home. In true female logic style she saves those lists for the days when I elect to work from home.

These little breaks are just perfect for us Dad's to have some 'bloke time' and do all the stuff we used to do as singles and discover it isn't as good as you remembered, because just as the house seems too quiet they arrive home and normal service is resumed.

Of course, 10 minutes after that arrival and with incessant 'Then we did this, then we did that...isn't such and such a cute kid, look what I bought...' chatter one starts to miss the little break very quickly. In fact like all holidays, you seem to think you've had a decent break, but then within 5 minutes of stepping through the door of work that holiday then seems a very dim and distant memory.

There is a small difference this time as well. Kid isn't going. At nearly 17 and seemingly attached to her boyfriend, Marine Boy, she has decided that trips to 'Grandma' are no longer her thing. So, the mini-break now has a possible interloper skulking around the house. Plus as Hellsbells will be away it means some mug has to drag his sorry arse out of bed Saturday morning after a night at the local hostelry to take her to work. And it won't be Marine Boy.

But hey, that's just a minor infringement on the mini-break.

And so, with this in mind, here's the schedule. Starting Friday after work.

Kebab
Pre-pub DVD on Home Cinema system (Zeppelin or Floyd)
Pub
Sleep
Taxi service for Kid
Pre-golf sleep
Golf
Post golf beer
Kebab
Mindless TV and newspaper catch up
Match of the Day (only if Chelsea win or earn honourable draw)
Sleep
Bacon or sausage sandwich
Sunday papers (pt1)
Golf
Post golf beer
Welcome them home
Football (TV)
Sunday papers (pt2)
Sleep.

Not paradise, but not far off.

Later , GJ

Pond Life

You may all be aware of the fact that I have a pretty low opinion on the city of Liverpool. Not the actual physical city itself, which I imagine is just like any other dock city, but because of the hypocrisy that emanates from the people who occupy it.

I had already thought the nationwide stereotype of them being scallies and hub cap thieves was a bi-product of grim TV dramas such Boys from the Blackstuff and Brookside, but the antics of their football fans from the red side at the Heysel stadium was a key factor in my own reinforced poor image of the people.

Highly unfair I'm sure, but then the Rhys Jones murder happened and whilst I heard local Archbishops and Bishops praise the sense of community from the city, like many others all I was aware of was a wall of silence from those who knew the killers and were protecting them. And so it transpires that the mother of the killer Sean Mercer, Janette Mercer, did in fact lie to the Police in order to throw them off the scent of her son. Similarly the parents of his main accomplice and the supplier of the gun, James Yates, did a similar thing.

In Janette Mercers case she even tried to claim off the insurance for the mountain bike her son rode as he pulled the trigger. It defies belief doesn't it? Is it any wonder our society is going down the pan when parents believe that getting their son or daughter off a crime is more important than seeing the grief stricken family of the victim see justice done? Whilst the family of Rhys Jones have been in the most unspeakable pain and under the most unimaginable pressure, these parents were only concerned that their children, their murdering children were protected from justice. Presumably they could then get on with their lives as 'happy' families whilst the Jones family continued to grieve and in all probability would not be able to move on because without any justice there would be no closure.

How very moral of them. In fact I'm sure there are people out across the country who might even probably do the same, such is the love they have for their children. But it's wrong and misguided. and indeed very sad that they put themselves first. Janette Mercer and Francis and Marie Yates are nothing more than Pond Life with no moral compasses. They are indicative of the cowardice and moral vacuum the people of Liverpool projected during that time. And yes, I know its only a few, but those few who were protecting these murdering shitbags knew other people, who knew other people - the web was potentially huge but no-one wanted to say anything. The fear of the gang no doubt featured in this, but the parents must have also known. The police could have protected people. The silence from the people of Liverpool whilst shedding their crocodile tears to the rest of us was truly shocking. The parents deserve nothing less than custodial sentences for their part in the cover up and lies that prevented justice being done.

5 years wouldn't be too long now, would it?

Later, GJ

Something for the weekend

Here it comes. Our weekly ration of days off in the marvellous 5:2 work/life balance ration, although I suspect as more and more companies jump on the 'excuse to cut jobs' bandwagon, more and more people are having a 0:7 work/life balance.

Rumours are rife within The Company of impending job cut doom as the end of the financial year hove’s into view. It’s hard to walk past a Director or Head of Department without hearing the sound of knife sharpening steel. The 'redundancy plan' continues to be built slowly but surely with a highly eclectic..........no ................insane list of options being added day by day, rather reflecting the random twisted mind of the writer. The latest flight of fancy for the plan is for The Company to lay off my whole team, we pool the redundancy money and we offer what we do to other small and medium sized companies who might be interested in what we offer. Knowledge is power after all. Yep, a bonkers idea, but aren't they often the ones that take off the best?

Of course all rumours are based on tissues of information bonded together to produce bigger and better rumours, and of course they also produce little side rumours that act as offspring to the main rumour. From the "there will be cuts" rumour comes the “it’s 15% of the workforce rumour" (how could anyone possibly know that?) to the 'they're halving the redundancy payments' rumour. This last one, despite my ability to apply reasoning most of the time, is the most worrying for me. The last lot of redundancies on my pay band and below was paid at a whopping 4 weeks pay for each year of service, capped at a years salary. Additionally for those over 40 they got 6 weeks for each year of their age over 40. Hence with 15 years service at 47 years old (fuck!) I would get 5 lots of 4 weeks salary, and 7 months of 6 weeks salary.

Not bad, not bad at all and something that would sweeten the bitter pill of rejection that accompanies redundancy. Apparently though the rumour is that this will be halved! Which makes an almighty difference, because on the first formula there’s a good chance debts can be paid off, or that it’s enough working capital to get a bank to support a new business (although that’s the very cause of the whole problem isn’t it?).

Being an Unlucky Alf type of character this just the sort of shit luck that would happen to me. Avoid redundancy when the big payouts are in vogue, but cop an unfortunate one when they’ve been slashed.

“Bugger” as Alf would say.

Still it hasn’t happened yet and this rumour could well have come from Utter Bullshit Factory for all I know.

And so it’s also Valentine’s Day this weekend. Oh Joy.

Yet another excuse for the flowers and greeting cards industry to stripe loads of sad souls and convince people that you only really love someone if you send them a card/buy them flowers/take them for a meal/go away for a break. Now, here’s the Jack view.

What a crock of utter shite! Why the fuck do we need a special day in order to profess our love (or lust) for someone? Shouldn’t that be something we do anyway, whenever it suits us? Are we so full of guilt that we think that spending money on overpriced flowers or going for a special (i.e. more expensive than normal) meal is the true mark of how we feel? We really are a sad, fucked up society if that is the case. I kind of understand the principle at 14 years old of secretly letting someone you fancy know about it semi-anonymously (admit it, you always left some clue), but when you’re married…….in your …ahem…40’s?

I told Hellsbells I loved her on our Wedding Day. What more is needed?

Of course I bought some flowers……..my life would be hell otherwise

*puts tin hat back on and waves white flag in air*.

Its worth mentioning that Pie cooked dinner last night. Monkfish Nicoise. Monkfish with peppers, onions, and sun-dried tomato’s with Wild Mushroom rice and a lemon, white wine and garlic sauce. She’s 13 for fucks sake! And it was simply one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I’m so proud of her it almost brings a tear to the cynical old eye. I did Parents evening the other night and saw 6 of her teachers. In the end the gushing praise was embarrassing.

I still maintain I would like to know when it was that teachers became nice people. Humans in fact. Because they weren’t like that in my schooldays.

Some poor Friday jokes (an occasional series when I can be arsed)

I see Supermarkets are offering bags for life.
I don’t see the fuss.
Churches have always offered this through marriage

A young man is walking along a pier when he sees an old man with his shoes off, trouser legs rolled up, legs dangling in the sea and fishing with an imaginary rod.
Puzzled, the young man asks “What are you doing”
The old man replies “Fishing for cunts”
“Sounds good, can I join you?”
“Of course you can, pull up a pew son”
The young man sits down and casts an imaginary rod out, turns to the old man and says
“So how many cunts have you caught today?”
The old man replies
“You’re the third this morning”

Statistically, 6 out of 7 dwarves aren’t happy.

And finally….I was in Tesco the other day when I saw a guy off Crimewatch who is wanted for sevral rapes. I tackled him to the ground and punched him unconscious. The police arrived and arrested me.

Apparently they use actors on the show.

I thank you.

Later , GJ

Toilet Crime

I've seen the odd weird notice in my time, and in fact there's a whole raft of them here

But we have one in trap 2 of the Gents on the floor where I work.


It simply says two things.

.) Please flush the toilet after use.

Fair enough because lets face it there are some dirty bastards who seem happy to leave all sorts of the digestive horrors behind in the pan. Whether this is laziness or just utter pride because their crap is such a work of art they can't bear to flush it away is a moot point. I can't ever understand why people don't flush. Is it how they're bought up? Did Mummy and Daddy actively say 'Never mind son, just leave it there .......someone else will get rid of it' ? .

Worse still are the ones where the deposit is in the pan, but there isn't any paper? What's that about? Are there really people out there who lay some cable, get up and think to themselves 'Fuck it, why wipe.....I'll let it dry and I'll chip the remnants off later'?

The next little part of the sign defies belief though. It simply says this

2.) Please lift the lid before use

WTF?

As if the non-flushers aren't bad enough, do we really have people working for The Company who can't be bothered to lift the lid of the toilet before using it? And do they discriminate between lifting it for a piss and taking a dump? Or do they do not lift it for either. Does someone really walk into the loo and just piss aimlessly over the closed lid toilet happily watching the golden shower wash over the pan and falling to the floor like some sort of Ornamental Yellow Fountain but happily opens the lid if their on number two duty? And as for what happens if they're the type who pisses into the pan with the lid happily open but then decides to 'lay some cable' ....do they just shut the lid, drop the old trolleys, park themselves a decent distance above the closed seat, open the bomb bay doors and squeeze away? Are they turd sculptors? And what do they do about the wiping process? I'm trying hard not to picture someone walking into the loo and crapping ON the seat and then topping it off with a nice paper hat and coat, semi blended into their masterpiece.

Of course the last bit won't apply to the serial toilet criminal, the ones who neither flush nor lift the lid. The serial toilet criminal is also the sort of person who picks their nose and thinks the inside of the door is a viable storage facility for their nasal detritus. I'd accuse them of being the sort of prick who uses the last piece of paper so that the next unfortunate victim (we've all been there) desperate to eject the main body in bowel clinching desperation then suddenly finds they're stuck with nothing to wipe up the left overs, except as serial toilet felons or just non flushers, lack of paper isn't much of an issue in their lives.


That's why hankies and underpants are useful.

Better to sacrifice one or both than suffer the discomfort of the soiled ringpiece.

You see the sort of dilemmas that run through my mind every day. Some say life is simple, but when you see little signs such as this you know that just isn't true and that even the simplest apparent things have so many different permutations when simple protocols and rules get ignored.

Something tells me this never happens in women's toilets though.

Later, GJ

BasketCase FC

Scolari is sacked and in my view as an obsessed Chelsea fan for 37 years or so it didn't come a moment too soon. The weekends display at home to Hull completely fucked my weekend up, which as any real fan knows is exactly how it should be.

If losing (or in this case drawing) doesn't fuck the weekend or at least the evening up then you ain't a proper football fan.

Since he took over the decline has been marked and if I performed in my job like that, taking a good, high performing team over and taking them into decline whilst driving morale down, then I'd expect my boss to be kicking my arse.

Nice bloke, but I don't want nice. I want my beloved Chelsea to be an snarling, spitting, arse-kicking, obnoxious, enfant terrible of the Premier League. Because we'd be winning again and in the end nice guys don't win.

But it could be worse.......I could be a Newcastle fan on Safari............have a look at the picture (click to enlarge).

Surely a load of bollocks....but bloody funny.

Later, GJ

Aaah the new week starts

I am, of course still very much after the idiot who decided the ratio of 5 days working to 2 days off was the best one for a good work/life balance. I've said it before but the weekend starts and you blink and Monday morning its back to work. And it may just be me, but the older I get the harder Monday mornings become. In fact the older I get the harder every morning becomes. Alarms are ignored much more easily and the idea of rising in the dark and coming home in the dark seems more daunting with each passing year. I'm a sun-child. I like daylight. I like bright sunny warm daylight. And all of that seems a very long way away.

I am quite fortunate in that The Company does make provision for remote working so that on mornings such as last Monday, when we had a rare coating of snow, I was able to follow the heed of The Authorities and not make the unnecessary journey into work but to log on from the comfort of my study. We can video conference with each other or conference call meetings. We use MSN to chat online and of course it is a mobile phone company so we can use that to keep in contact.

All very civilised. Plus you get to work in your PJ's which can't be a bad thing.

Blimey, I had something nice to say about The Company.

Is that another sign of ageing?

Today it transpires that my stupidity in oversleeping due to forgetting to set the alarm (another sign of aging?) was ultimately fortuitous as the main route along the A34 has been shut in both directions since the early hours due to an overturned lorry. Just what is it with lorry drivers that there lorries just seem to flip over periodically? The so called 'professionals' of the road seem to live under some other law of the road which allows them to pull out as they see fit or to engage in the perennially annoying game of driving side by side refusing to overtake each other and creating huge tailbacks behind them. I didn't have much time for lorry drivers before our accident, let alone afterwards. And on that note....guess what? It now transpires that because luck of the good variety rarely plays a big part in my life, Monsieur Fuckwit, the numpty lorry driver from hell was probably uninsured.

Yep, that's right - uninsured.

Somehow or another he was allowed to drive a 44 tonne juggernaut in this country without insurance. Staggering huh? Now everything has to go through something called the Motor Insurers Bureau. Apparently they MAY pay some compensation provided we have reported the incident to the police. In fact they want the name of the attending officer and the reference number. Which of course we don't have because despite calling 999 and requesting the police and an ambulance to check we were OK, it now transpires that the police only care if someone is seriously injured or dead! The Highways Agency Incident Support Unit attended at the time and closed the motorway for 10 minutes whilst they sorted things out. Despite being very helpful they only gave us a piece of paper with Monsieur Fuckwits details on them and ours. No names, no references, fuck all. I have told the solicitors dealing with our case that very simply, we did what was required and called 999. The accident was logged by an officer of HM Government and as far as I'm concerned the police didn't give a toss. We fulfilled our obligation by dialling 999 and requesting the two emergency services. The Highways Agency must have a record of attendance as must the Surrey Ambulance Service.

I've also told them this....if he was uninsured then the company operating the lorry must be liable as what were they doing allowing an uninsured driver to operate that lorry in a foreign country without ensuring he had the relevant documents? If they didn't authorise it, then he must have stolen the lorry in which case why wasn't it reported and why hasn't he been nicked?

But doesn't all of this just seem to be heading in the direction of someone getting away with it whilst we live with the consequences?

Later, GJ